One Day I Hope To Make You Smile Again
by plumbobjo
Summary: AU from revenge week. Walker's plan succeeds, sort of. Ste gets shot, like he's supposed to and Brendan gets a flatmate, which was not part of the plan.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: Violence involving guns and fairly explicit sexual situations. Also a Stug breakup and references to their relationship - nothing much, just a few lines here and there.

Title ripped straight from the song Home Again by Michael Kiwanuka, his fantastic album was my writing soundtrack on this one.

"Brendan-"

He can hardly process the scene in front of him, doesn't know where to look first, Steven, the gun, Walker, eyes flitting quickly between all three.

He inches closer on his crutches until Walker tells him to stop, tosses them aside and raises his arm in front of Steven - for what good it'll do.

The look in Walker's eyes is intense and unwavering, his demeanor calm and furious; he looks like he was born to do this, born to kill in cold blood. Brendan has no doubts about _if_ anymore, he just hopes he has enough _when_ on his side to come up with some kind of plan.

"Why are you doin' this?"

Walker gaze shifts to Brendan and he dreads those next words.

"He killed my brother."

"No, please," Steven pleads, voice shaking and terrified. The sound of it tears through Brendan, shaking off the last of his numb horror and spurring him into action. He knocks Steven over and lunges for Walker, gets his hands around the gun and pulls it in the opposite direction to the boy lying on the ground.

A shot fires and ricochets off the brick and his heart lurches, the sound piercing and making his head ring. It shocks them both into stillness but Walker recovers half a second before Brendan and spins out of his reach. He does the first thing he can think of and throws himself to the floor in front of Steven, one hand up like it might stop bullets.

"Get out the way, Brendan!" Walker spits, eyes wild, all his composure lost.

Brendan says nothing, doesn't, can't, _will not_ move. Steven trembles beneath him and he wills the bullet to come, ready to take it and finally end everything, to give Steven back everything that Brendan took from him.

Moments pass and they stare at each other, a stalemate, until suddenly Walker lowers the gun and looks down at the ground.

"Always know, all of this is because of what _you've_ done," he says softly, his face full of awe. Brendan thinks, what the Hell is going on, no way, that can't be it, but then he feels it; the warm touch of thick liquid against his hand. He looks down, down at the place Walker's staring at, and sees a pool of red growing under his fingers.

He's frozen, stunned and entranced with the way the blood flows and spreads. He looks up, dazed, to see Walker's retreating figure and it's a choice between chasing after him and making the bastard pay and staying right here by Steven's side.

It's not really a choice at all.

Steven's shaking, violently now, and his breath is wheezing and laboured. Brendan whips out his phone with clumsy hands and quickly calls an ambulance, tosses it to one side and kneels over the prone body.

"A few minutes Steven, it's okay, you just gotta stay with me for a few minutes," he whispers, tucking one hand under Steven's head and gripping one of his hands with the other. He's already so cold and when Brendan presses his lips to Steven's cheek he feels eyelashes flutter against his face.

He leans back and sees that Steven's fading.

"No, no no no no," he moans, shakes him until he opens his eyes again, "don't you dare, not now, not after everything, _look at me_."

Steven does, eyes glazed with pain and shock but he's focused on Brendan.

"Don't take your eyes off me," he says firmly, shuffling lower so he's practically laid at the side of him.

He feels Steven squeeze his hand weakly. His throat aches with all the things he wants to say right now but can't because it would sound too much like a goodbye. He prays for the time to say them later; prays with the promise that he won't waste anymore if he gets it.

"We've been in this for two years, please, _please,_" he pleads in a broken whisper, "just give me a few more minutes."


	2. Chapter 2

He whistles on his way up the stairs to his flat and Brendan thinks he hasn't looked forward to going home like this in a long time. He's been leaving the club in Joel's semi-capable hands at 7pm sharp for the past few nights, trying to exit at a casual stroll instead of skipping off like a five year old girl like he wants to.

He doesn't need to get his keys out, knows the door will already be unlocked - despite how many lectures he's given on the subject. He's never appreciated _knowing_ that before. Never thought it would be such a gratifying feeling.

He hears the familiar noise of the TV as he enters the flat, smells the familiar faint scent of antiseptic cream, sees the familiar shape shuffling round his kitchen.

"Hiya."

"Hey, how you feeling?" he puts the delicious smelling bag he's carrying on the coffee table, chucks his jacket and shoes somewhere, removes assorted things from his pockets and throws them about the place.

"You're like a walking hurricane, you. And I'm the same as I was when you rang me this afternoon," Steven says, rolling his eyes and pottering back and forth, waving the spoon he's holding about. "I wouldn't of told you to go back to work if I'd known you were gonna be_ more_ of a pain. Ooh is that chips?"

"Indulge me," Brendan drawls, perching on the dining table and folding his arms to relieve the compulsion he has to go and help make the drinks; it won't be appreciated. "And yes, I am the hunter-gatherer."

"I'm fine, it hurts but I did get shot three weeks ago so I think that's normal."

"Heard anything from Douglas today?" he asks casually, as he does every day.

Steven's face darkens but he doesn't give too much away.

"No, he's probably just busy," he says softly and gets back to the tea.

"Yeah, probably," is all Brendan says in reply, doesn't want to remind Steven that he doesn't need to make excuses for him; they're not a couple anymore and Doug left the country not days after Steven came out of surgery because he couldn't handle the guilt of helping put him there in the first place.

Steven would just tell him not to start, that he and Doug were both to blame and it was better this way, that they both needed to move on. Brendan wouldn't disagree with the last part but he admits he may be slightly biased and he'd gotten tired of that argument two weeks ago when Steven had first come home with him. None of them was a winner in this situation.

"Anyway, I bobbed out a bit ago and got us something," Steven says cheerfully, master of the unsubtle subject change. He whips out a huge Galaxy bar and shakes it about like he's brandishing a weapon, "I hunted and gathered, too."

Brendan feels panic for a second, _outoutsidedanger,_ and then tries his best to let it go. He's proud of Steven's stubborn determination to get back to normal and basically do everything Brendan begs him _not_ to do. He can't stay cooped up in the flat forever, he's not a house pet. Brendan has considered getting him electronically tagged though, in his darker moments.

"Chocolate, you read my mind," he says smiling, smiling because Steven's smiling and he's holding chocolate and how can that not be perfect? "I've been craving it all week, it's like I'm PMSing or something."

"Yeah I noticed, hence-" Steven holds up the bar and trails a finger over the writing on the front that says 'NEW more to share'. He hands Brendan one of the steaming mugs and slaps his hand away when he tries to take the other one from him.

Brendan hovers as unobtrusively as he can while Steven makes his way to the sofa but he manages to get sat down with minimal fuss. Brendan throws himself down on the same sofa, a habit born as an extension of his hovering, his need to be close, and it had pissed Steven off at first but it's just as familiar now as everything else between them. He unfolds the big bag of chips and sets it between them.

"So how was your day?" Steven asks like he has for the last four evenings.

He folds his legs up onto the sofa and turns to face Brendan. He says it pulls on his scar less than sitting properly and Brendan finds that talking to him is easier when he sits the same way.

"Not bad, although Rhys tried to charge a customer over twelve grand for a round of drinks."

Steven snorts into his tea, "how did he manage that? Actually you know what, nothing surprises me when it comes to Rhys."

"The guy was paying with his card and Rhys managed to leave it on the charge screen when he was putting his pin number in," Brendan stops to munch some chips and sip his tea, "so then the guy's kicking off and Rhys realises what he's done, so, naturally, he loudly shouts out some numbers to a room full of people and asks the guy if that was his pin. Which it was."

Steven laughs, easy and relaxed; he drinks his tea and Brendan steals a chip from between his fingers while he's distracted.

When Brendan had first brought him home from the hospital he'd been so quiet; all withdrawn and pale and he'd barely looked anything other that haunted. Grief for his broken engagement and trauma from the attack had left him dull al over, so unlike any version of Steven he'd ever known.

He'd had visitors, Cheryl and some of his weird friends from next door, phone calls from Amy and the kids after she'd had to go home and back to work when he was discharged, even Tony with an awkward pat on the back and a get well soon card - which Brendan had found hilarious and pinned to the fridge, but nothing had penetrated the fog of his dark mood.

After three days Brendan had pulled every trick he knew to make Steven laugh, working at it like it was a mission from God. After five days it paid off and he got his first smile, it had come when Brendan had accidentally tripped over his own feet and nearly knocked himself out on the coat rack. It had taken eight days for Steven to get some of his cheek back and nine for him to send Brendan back to the club for treating him like an invalid.

It had taken eleven days for them to get into this routine that Brendan now found himself enjoying. Day fifteen and he wonders if he could have Steven sat cross-legged on his sofa laughing like this forever.

"How was it getting out today?" Brendan asks, half genuinely curious and half to distract himself from dangerous flights of fancy.

"Not bad, took longer than I thought it would since everyone wanted to ask me about what happened but nobody dared actually come out and say it," Steven tells him, "so I got stuck with a load of awkward conversations that went 'how's the...' and them just waving their hands about and lookin' all sorry for me."

Brendan covers his mouth to stifle a snort and says quickly, "I'msorrythat'snotfunny."

"Specially 'cause I didn't know whether they were talkin' about me getting shot or my fiance runnin' off."

"Oh my God, please stop," Brendan begs through his fingers, can't help but find Steven's completely deadpan summary of his situation hilarious.

"Yeah laugh it up, this is revenge for me listing all the things wrong with your life when you were laid up in that chair in't it?" he says but he's smiling, all warm and tolerant.

"The waving could have meant anything, Steven," he muses, flops a chip around a bit for emphasis, "how's the kids? How's the weather? How's the sexy Irish guy I hear you're staying with these days? Is he as amazing at looking after you as he is at looking amazing?"

"Yeah, that's probably what they meant; you know how much people 'round here like talking about the weather," Steven says sarcastically.

"You shouldn't be so cheeky to your primary carer y'know, I can hide your painkillers."

"When will you have time to do that when you're following me from room to room all day?"

"Fine, short-arse, I'll just put them somewhere really high."

"I'll phone social services."

"I'll disconnect the phones."

"I'll scream and then you'll 'ave Leanne Holiday to deal with."

"Point," Brendan concedes, then realises something very important is missing, "where've you hidden the chocolate?"

Steven's smile drops. He blinks and glances around, frowns and points over to the kitchen counter.

"I totally forgot," he sighs and looks frustrated. The painkillers he's on make him fuzzy and forgetful sometimes and Brendan knows how much he hates it.

"No problem, I like to work for my treats," he says, jumping up and fetching so he doesn't have to witness Steven's self-reproach.

He sits back down and unwraps it, breaks off some pieces and sets it down on the sofa next to the chips.

"We're gonna have to start getting actual decent food in at some point," Brendan says, drawing Steven's attention, "y'know, better for healing?"

"Except that I'll be the one cooking the food," he retorts, just like Brendan knew he would.

"Win-win," he quips and gives his most annoying smirk. He gets a remote to the face for his efforts. "That your subtle way of telling me to put the telly on?"


	3. Chapter 3

Brendan's fuzzy; somewhere between waking and sleeping, half dreaming about blood and cold skin. He feels stiff where he's slouched right down in his seat, legs up on the hard coffee table. He stretches out but stops when he feels the warm weight on him shift, blinks his heavy eyes open and sees Steven laid across the sofa on his good side, head pillowed on Brendan's stomach, hand warm on his leg.

He checks his watch, eight forty-five.

He realises what woke him up, Steven restless against him, asleep but clearly agitated; his fingers clench and unclench in the material of Brendan's trousers, his breathing quicker than it should be. He strokes his fingers through Steven's hair, leans down close to his ear and mumbles, "hey, it's okay, wake up," quietly until he turns to look up at him drowsily.

He utters a pained groan, breath hitching as Brendan helps him sit upright.

"Stay there," he says and heads quickly to the kitchen, to the drawer specially set aside to house Steven's assorted medication. Eight thirty is when his painkillers from earlier tend to wear off and Brendan doesn't know if the ache in his side is what woke him or if it was another nightmare. He won't ask, knows that Steven will talk when he needs to. He fills a glass with water and hurries back.

Steven's sprawled on the sofa, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. He takes the pills and the water from Brendan and gulps them down.

"Thanks," he says, voice scratchy and face pinched.

"No problem," Brendan says breezily, sitting back down next to him with his arm thrown across the back of the sofa. He trails his fingers across the back of Steven's neck, something that usually comforts him but apparently not tonight.

"I mean it Brendan," he says irritably, not usually how people express gratitude but this is Steven and his moods are odd at the best of times, "doing all this, letting me stay here, _picking up my medication from the chemist_, it's too much."

Brendan's been expecting this conversation, just not so soon; he's not ready.

"It's been two weeks-"

"Fifteen days," he interrupts, doesn't even now why he needed to point that out.

"Okay, so _over _two weeks," Steven huffs, "don't you think I should move back to mine? I don't need anything doing for me, I can change the dressing just fine, I'm not in any danger and you must be getting fed up of me being here all the time."

He wonders why Steven would think that. He's been conscious of his actions enough to know he hasn't given him any reason to; it's just his luck that his past behaviour would catch up with him on _this_ issue.

"Look, I told you to stay as long as you wanted. I'm partly responsible for getting you shot if you remember," he says fairly, "plus, you helped me out after the explosion."

Steven looks down at his hands, frowning. He looks disappointed.

"I didn't do that so you'd owe me," he says softly, words loaded but Brendan can't afford to go there, "and Walker shot me, not you."

"My gun."

"Which I got for you."

"Look, what's your point?" he snaps impatiently.

"That you don't need to feel responsible for me."

There's a lengthy and awkward silence in which Brendan realises that only the truth will save him here and that means he's fucked. He wants to say it, wants to let Steven know that he's _wanted_ here, that Brendan isn't letting him stay out of guilt or obligation.

Four weeks ago, fresh off the back of his revelation in Southport, before Walker had reminded him of how he tainted the lives of the people around him, he might have laid it all out on the line. Instead he breaks the promise he'd made to himself when he knelt on that floor watching Steven's blood flow around them both.

"You can leave if you want to, Steven," he says indifferently, "you don't need my permission."

"Okay, I'll get packed up tomorrow while you're at work," Steven says quietly, decisively, and Brendan thinks, well... that's that then.


	4. Chapter 4

"I remember saying something about me being able to change it myself."

"Well since you'll be fending for yourself by tomorrow, I thought you should watch the professional at work one last time; make sure you've got it."

He's cornered Steven getting out of the shower again, it's usually the best place to do it since the hallways pretty narrow. Another thing that's become habit, another thing he enjoys _knowing_.

Steven must read something in his expression, something he hasn't put there on purpose, because his face softens and he gestures to Brendan to lead the way.

They go into Cheryl's old room, the room that's currently filled with Steven's stuff, that's currently _his _room, and Steven grips the hem of his t-shirt to pull it over his head. He can do it with hardly a problem now and Brendan resists the urge to step close.

He positions Steven next to the bed where he tips out the bag of creams and bandages the chemist gave him and gets onto his knees. It's surprisingly never been a _thing_, just them figuring out the easiest way to get the dressing changed, but tonight it feels different. Tonight, Brendan feels Steven's absence already and loss clouds his ability to detach.

Steven's already removed the bandage to wash the wound in the shower. It's small, the size of a penny; positioned four inches left of his belly button, a dark coloured, raised scab surrounded by angry red skin that Brendan knows is still sore. The entire area around the hole is bruised, still a swirl of vivid purple and blue. There's no exit wound, the bullet's still in there, lodged up against Steven's spine, too risky to remove, trouble if they ever want to go on holiday somewhere abroad, but why would they? Why would _they_?

Brendan thinks he might be freaking out a little bit; the wound is ever an accusation and he struggles to face the weight of it some nights. He forces himself to, however. Here, on his knees, Brendan pays his penance.

He quickly grabs a cotton ball and soaks it in antiseptic solution to calm his jittery hands.

"Ready?" he looks up at Steven who nods at him and braces himself. Brendan spreads one palm at the base of Steven's back to hold him still and dabs the wet cotton to the skin above the puckered edges of the scar; he squeezes it to release the liquid and watches it dribble down over the torn skin. Steven pulls in a slow breath but the muscles of his stomach don't tense up anymore, not like they did to begin with.

He catches some of the liquid underneath and lets it soak back into the cotton ball before dabbing all around the wound and eventually pressing the cotton directly over it. Steven moans softly through the sting and Brendan strokes his thumb gently over the bumps of his spine. When he's satisfied he mops up the remaining fluid with the cotton ball before tossing it into the bin.

He grabs the antiseptic cream next and rubs it between his hands to warm it up. It's his favourite part of this whole ordeal and he suspects it's Steven's too. He likes to smooth his fingers over the unscarred skin around the wound for a little while, finds the naked connection between them comforting. It's the only way Brendan can allow himself to touch Steven this intimately.

He hears a sigh and risks a glance up even though it's the worst thing he can do right now. Steven's watching his hand but as soon as he looks up his eyes flick straight to Brendan's. There's a huge lurch low in his belly, so violent he feels like he might topple over with the force of it. Under his hands he feels Steven's breathing deepen but he can't for the life of him look away from those eyes.

They're treading on dangerous territory here. It's not the first time since Steven moved in; they've already navigated a few awkward moments, unsurprising given the nature of their relationship, but this is different. Brendan feels in real danger of giving in to it this time, the thought of not seeing Steven every day messing up his judgement, making the pull harder to resist. He _wants_ so badly, hands itching to touch and take and make Steven just _stay_ here with him, protected, safe, not safe, not at all.

"Ahh-"

Steven jerks back and Brendan realises in his distraction he's jostled the scab and it's bleeding.

"Oh shit, sorry," he panics and grabs a clean cloth to press against the area and soak up the dripping blood. There's not much, no visible damage but damn if that wasn't the worlds biggest mood killer. Brendan supposes he should be grateful.

"How bad does it hurt?"

"Not much, just shocked me," Steven says, gives him an awkward little laugh. Brendan nods at him and finishes up quickly, puts the last of the cream on and covers the wound with a square bandage.

"All done," he says hauling himself off the floor with a loud groan, legs aching and knees sore. He huffs and makes a show of brushing himself off.

"Only you could be so dramatic in a room with a bloke who's been shot," Steven smirks, tension dissipating like it was never there. Brendan flicks him in the arm in reply.

"Get to bed, you," he says with a long-suffering sigh, "big day tomorrow."

Steven looks at him for a few seconds, like he might be thinking about speaking. In the end he just nods and Brendan takes it as his cue to leave.

"Brendan," he says quietly and Brendan half turns in the doorway. Steven's silent for a moment longer before finally saying, "goodnight."

His chest tightens and the compulsion to stay right here in this room and just _do something_, _anything_ is all encompassing. Instead he smiles, opens the door and leaves.


	5. Chapter 5

He wakes up suddenly, sure that something's wrong. He's alert and sitting up in seconds, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There's someone in the room with him.

"Steven?" he whispers, makes out a figure by the door and hopes he's right because he's sick of people somehow managing to break into his flat all the damn time.

"Yeah," is the reply and he relaxes a little, hears the sound of Steven shuffling over to him across the carpet. He steps into the stream of moonlight spilling in from between the gap in his curtains and Brendan sees him properly. He looks intense, eyes too blue in the silver light, wide and bright like he's terrified and determined at the same time.

He notes with fondness that he's wearing Brendan's black hoodie, the sleeves spilling over his fidgeting hands. It makes him look small and vulnerable.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Brendan asks, voice gruff with sleep and concern.

"Nothing, I just-" Steven says softly, voice wavering. He bites his lower lip and breathes shakily through his nose and Brendan's sure something terrible has happened.

"Steven, what-"

Turns out he's wrong and his next words catch in his throat. He's gone from zero to sixty in a split second, heart racing and body tensing, because Steven's suddenly on him, legs straddling his thighs and hands buried in his hair. Brendan's very conscious that all he's wearing is boxers.

"Please," is all Steven says, soft and pleading and _desperate_ and it breaks him. He brings his hands up around his waist and digs his fingers into the material of the hoodie as Steven's lips cover his own. He savours the feeling, soft and plush, before tilting his head and opening up to slide his tongue against Steven's.

They fit together perfectly, just like always, like they were created as one whole that got broken in two somewhere down the line. He could kiss a million people, has kissed a whole fucking load, but nothing could ever compare to this. Steven's mouth is wet and yielding, the drag of his tongue sensual, the cling of his lips intimate.

He's hard already, the weight of Steven pressing down on him creating delicious friction. He pulls away and tries to breathe himself under control. Steven's lips move to his jaw, dragging wet, sucking kisses down to his neck, his tongue lapping over Brendan's frantic pulse.

"Steven, this is-" he tries, a token attempt at pointing out what a monumentally bad idea this is because there's no way this doesn't end with him fucking Steven into a whimpering mess. He gets, thankfully, shushed.

"Don't, don't treat me like I don't know what I want," Steven whispers into his ear, damp breath making him shiver. Brendan slides his fingers around Steven's neck and pulls him back to look him in the eye. His intent is clear; Brendan's never seen him look so sure of anything.

He slides both his hands to the front of the hoodie, grabs the zip in one and tugs it down slowly, slips the other inside as he goes and finds Steven's not wearing anything under it. Inch by inch he uncovers more skin, looks and touches unabashedly. He slips it off finally, presses soft kisses across Steven's shoulder while they work together to get his arms out of the sleeves.

He tosses it on the floor and pulls the boy close, relishes the feeling of skin against skin, the play of muscles in Steven's back as Brendan runs his fingertips up his spine. He licks his way back into that perfect mouth and moans when he feels Steven roll his hips against him, feels his dick pressing hard into Brendan's stomach through the jogging bottoms he's wearing.

Brendan needs to correct that.

He fixes both arms tightly around Steven's body, spreads his palm at the top of his back to hold his weight securely and then rolls them over gently.

"Didn't hurt you did I?" he asks softly, settling between Steven's spread legs and shifting his weight to the right to avoid the bullet wound.

"No," he replies, stroking his hands down Brendan's neck and chest, watches their path with half-lidded eyes. He looks up at Brendan and says, "I trust you."

Brendan swallows audibly, wants to say that he shouldn't, that it's insane, ask what the Hell he's _thinking_. Steven knows better than anyone how dangerous Brendan is, and yet here he is, the only one fully informed, the only one who's still by his side.

He leans down and does the only thing he can, lets his actions say what he never could with words.

He kisses Steven's mouth, drags his lips against the upturned corner, down the slope of his neck and over his adam's apple, across his collar-bone, down the center of his chest and over his pounding heart. He stays there, lets the beat of it thump against his lips, lets it push out the thoughts of Steven laying on the path outside his door, blood draining out and spilling over Brendan's hands where it's always belonged.

Steven slips his fingers into Brendan's hair, scrapes blunt nails across his scalp making him shiver. He continues to kiss a path downwards, presses the flat of his tongue against one nipple before taking it into his mouth and sucking gently. He hears Steven sigh, feels goosebumps break out on the skin underneath his fingertips, loves how responsive he is, how well he can read this body.

He looks down, stroking his stubble across the skin covering Steven's ribs and making him laugh. Brendan can see the bright white of the bandage standing out stark against Steven's stomach, impossible to ignore.

He plays his fingers over it gently, shifts his body lower between Steven's legs and kisses around the bruises peeking out from underneath. He mouths, "I'm sorry," into the skin, a quiet whisper that not even Steven hears but Brendan knows it's there, the apology seared into his flesh. Sorry for everything I've put you through, sorry for not being the man you needed, deserved, loved, love.

He pulls away to sit up, tears his eyes away from the white square with difficulty and takes in all of the body sprawled in front of him. Steven's skin shines softly in the washed out light spilling in through the window and he's beautiful, completely, impossibly so. He's also hard, dick pushing up against the front of his pants and making Brendan's mouth water.

He leans down and presses his lips into the skin of Steven's belly, rubs his nose through the trail of hair there and follows it down, peeling the elastic of the jogging bottoms away as he goes. He's not wearing underwear either. Brendan looks up at him with his eyebrow raised and gets a filthy smirk that he absolutely adores.

He's going to enjoy wiping right off Steven's face.

He sits up and wrestles the pants off him, throws them on the floor somewhere like they've personally offended him. He drinks in the sight of Steven completely naked, laments that it's been far too long since he's seen anything he wanted quite so much.

Steven stares up at him from under his lashes, liquid and hot, never could hide the need on his face when they were together, used to wear it like he _wanted _Brendan to see it and it's more obvious than ever that right now that he wants Brendan to see everything. He spreads his legs further apart in an invitation that Brendan accepts.

He strokes both his hands up Steven's thighs and pushes against his knees until they bend further, bracketing Brendan's body. He gestures to the table next to the bed and Steven reaches across to root around in the drawer one-handed with all the familiarity of eighteen months ago. Except Brendan's glad that it isn't; he prefers these versions of themselves.

Steven tosses lube and condoms down on the bed impatiently and Brendan chuckles, wants to say something like 'eager?' but he knows his voice will show him up. Instead he reaches out with one hand and firmly strokes the flat of his palm from the base to the tip of Steven's dick.

It's what he's been waiting for and Steven moans in what sounds like relief. It's a stunning sound, one he's missed, no-one else has ever moaned for him like Steven, and he does it again, tightens his fingers around the hard flesh and pumps him slowly until he throws his head back against the pillows.

With his other hand and some pretty impressive dexterity he gets the lube open and dribbles it over his fingers. He warms it and tries not to think too much about antiseptic cream when he lowers his hand to cup and stroke across the soft skin of Steven's balls and lower, massaging the sensitive skin underneath.

He sees as well as feels the leak of precome easing the slip slide of his hand on Steven's dick and it's too much, he has to taste. He presses his mouth to the tip, drags the sticky, salty liquid across his lips and laps at it with his tongue, opens his mouth and swallows Steven down, looks up to see his throat bared, mouth open and making the most beautiful noises.

"Brendan, oh God," are the first coherent words he speaks, low and cracking and Brendan loves hearing his name said in that voice.

He works Steven with his mouth and tongue and drags his slippery fingers against his hole, rubbing over the entrance and feeling the muscle give until he can push his index finger slowly inside. It's hot and tight and makes his dick ache in anticipation.

He listens to Steven's body to gauge when he's ready for another finger, hears his breath even out when he gets used to the first and feels his muscles relax around him. He pushes in the second and lays his forearm across Steven's hips in precaution before crooking his fingers.

Steven whimpers helplessly and pushes up against Brendan's arm and he does it again, rubs the pads of his fingers against the inside of him until he's loose and shaking and doesn't stop until he begs.

"Please, oh my God, Brendan, please."

He lets Steven's dick fall out of his mouth, removes his fingers and sits back. Steven's sprawled untidily, legs splayed and body flushed and sweating, eyes wide and bright and fixed on him unwaveringly. Brendan thinks at this point he'd give him anything, a fucking pony or a wedding ring, _anything._

He quickly gets out of his boxers and picks up the condom, goes to tear it open with his teeth but Steven stops him.

"Without it," he says, "it's okay."

In the space of a second, Brendan thinks, fuck it, he's never fucked anyone except Steven without protection anyway and he trusts Steven not to do this if there was any risk. The thought of there being no barriers between them is too tempting to resist, it seems so fitting somehow and Brendan loves a bit of symbolism.

When he picks up the bottle, Steven holds out his hand.

"Let me," he says so Brendan hands it to him and crawls forward to settle back between his legs, keeping as much of his weight on his elbows as possible.

Steven pours lube into one hand and reaches down, takes Brendan's dick and smooths the warming liquid across the length of him while they both watch in fascination. Brendan pulls in shaking breaths and loses himself in feeling of Steven's clever hand on him.

He brings his other, unoccupied, hand up and places it flat over Brendan's chest. Brendan watches him watch his own hand stroke across his body, across his shoulders and down to his stomach. He looks completely, hopelessly, adoring and Brendan has to kiss him. Anything to stop him looking at Brendan like that, like he wants to crawl inside him and take up residence; like he doesn't realise he already has.

He reaches down and covers Steven's hand with his own, gives it a squeeze and replaces it with his own. He lines himself up, drags the head of his dick back and forth across Steven's entrance and feels the muscles give before sliding inside. He goes slow, letting them both get used to the feeling, all heat and tight and perfect pressure as he rocks his hips closer and closer until he's completely buried. His body's trembling, the feeling so intense it's almost too much.

Steven's puffing ragged exhales across his face, eyes shut and mouth open for the taking and Brendan takes; sucks on his tongue until he's moaning again and rolling his hips up, trying to get him to move.

He does, pulls out slowly and pushes back in just as slow until Steven's wrapping one leg around his back and drawing him in impossibly close, impossibly deep.

"Brendan, come on," he breathes, voice ragged, "harder, you're not gonna hurt me."

He thinks that's debatable but now's not the time for arguing. He balances his weight up onto his hands, thinks as long as he can _see_ the bandage he can't be leaning on it, and pushes into Steven's body in one long, hard motion. It's unbelievable, the friction and the tight squeeze and drag around him as he pulls out and repeats the motion setting a fire under his skin, making every inch of him spark and sing.

Steven cries out, full on shouts as Brendan drives into him in earnest. He hooks one hand around Brendan's neck to bring their lips together, no finesse whatsoever just Brendan fucking Steven's mouth with his tongue the same way he's fucking his arse.

He reaches down with his other hand to take his dick but Brendan intercepts, grabbing his wrist. He takes Steven's other hand in his, tangles their fingers together and drags both his arms up above his head.

"No hands," he says, voice a low growl and Steven's body is wracked with a violent tremor.

"Oh, God," he says breathlessly, head tipping back and eyes fluttering closed. They've done this before with mostly positive results and Brendan thinks it's not going to take much tonight.

He stops to reposition himself, pulls his knees up under both their bodies to take some of his weight, the extra elevation angling Steven's hips up and when he pushes back into him Brendan feels his entire body jump.

"There?"

"Yeah, right there," Steven says weakly, squeezes Brendan's fingers where they're tangled above him.

He feels so close already; the cling of Steven's muscles around his dick is impossibly good, feeling Steven come apart underneath him, hearing the broken, needy sound of his voice, it's overwhelming and he never wants it to end but it's going to, _soon._

He buries his face in Steven's neck, sucks and bites on the skin under his lips and quickens the pace, nails the spot inside the Steven's body on every thrust until he's begging incoherently.

"Don't stop, please, pleasepleaseplease don't stop, Brendan-"

Brendan's name is a litany from his lips and he hears his own voice escape him as he pants raggedly, damp against the skin of Steven's throat, doesn't let up for one second as he drives into him hard again and again, pressure building in his own body until he's desperately clinging onto his last shred of control.

Steven's voice devolves from words into continuous high-pitched whimpers, his body tenses all over and Brendan knows he's about to come. He pulls back to look into his face, _has_ to see.

"Come on, come for me, Steven," he breathes and that's it; Steven's body shakes violently and he arches up, head thrown back and spine curved off the bed. He cries out again and again and his hands squeeze Brendan's so tightly that it's painful.

Brendan can't take his eyes off him. He's completely abandoned, lost to what Brendan's doing to his body, lost to _him_ and he can't hold back anymore. He lets the clenching muscles around his dick pull him over the edge.

He feels his orgasm grow and spread like liquid fire in his veins before it slams into him with the all the suddenness of being hit by a train. He buries his face back into Steven's neck and rides it out, groaning low and rough and broken. The feeling's so intense that for the longest time he's not sure where he is or what his own fucking name is.

When he comes back to himself the first thing he feels are Steven's hands trailing up and down his back, real and grounding. Brendan's leaning most of his weight on top of him and his whole body is trembling, they both are. Steven isn't complaining though, probably still too blissed out to process pain yet.

Brendan pulls out and rolls to the side gracelessly, despite his complete lack of energy he leans up on one elbow to inspect Steven's damaged stomach. There's no blood on the bandage so he hasn't knocked the scab in any way but he'd _felt_ how intensely Steven's muscles were tensing and knows he's going to be aching in a few hours.

"Mmnnugghh-"

Brendan agrees with the sentiment. He watches with fascination as Steven's body ripples with tremors. He's pretty proud of himself right now.

He strokes his fingertips through the come drying on Steven's stomach, flails about behind him for a tissue from the bedside table and cleans him up, fairly certain that come is not productive to healing. Brendan figures he has a few blissful, post sex minutes before he starts to process what just happened and his subconscious decides how it's going to react.

He uses the time wisely, cups Steven's face and dips his head to press their lips together. Steven opens up instantly and Brendan kisses him slow and thorough, tastes every inch of his mouth and savours it. Steven's shaking hands come up around his neck to pull him closer until Brendan's half leaning over him barely supporting his own weight on his unsteady arms.

He tries to pull back but Steven's having none of it; he tightens his grip and kisses him desperately until Brendan's moaning into his mouth, sliding both arms under him and pressing their bodies tightly together.

It goes on until his mouth is almost numb, until he's breathless and dizzy and so satisfied. When Steven finally loosens his grip, Brendan pulls back to look at him and the bugger's practically sparkling.

"I could stay," he says and it's not the desperate request it might once have been. It's simply an offer of something, a future, there for Brendan to take if he's brave enough. Steven's _there_ now, he's ready for this, Brendan can see the certainty in his face. The gears of their relationship have been shifting for months now and finally something's clicked.

It's all on Brendan now.

"In my bed or in my flat?" he asks casually, settling back onto his side, "because I remember it was you that decided you were leaving."

Steven sighs, a small, disappointed sound that tears through Brendan like a rusty saw. It's so achingly familiar and it means the same thing every time; it never gets easier to bear.

"Yeah, I better go get some sleep then," he says sulkily, shifting carefully onto his side to face Brendan. His face screws up in discomfort and Brendan resists the urge to tell him off and roll him back over.

"I could take the afternoon off, give you a hand?"

"Didn't need a hand tonight," Steven says quick as a flash and snorts a fit of giggles, finding himself hilarious and it's so _Steven_ that Brendan feels warm with affection.

"No you did not," he says, smug and amused. They watch each other for a while and Steven looks hesitant.

"Right, well, I'll just-" he says softly and gestures over his shoulder to the door.

"Yeah," is all Brendan can say, throat sticking around anything more. He tells himself that it's for the best, that this is the best way he knows how to say goodbye, that they can leave this on decent terms finally and Brendan can make himself move on. That all he needed was one last time.

"Night," Steven says, leans forward quickly to kiss him softly, once, twice, pauses then goes in for three like he can't make himself stop and then he's sitting up and swinging his legs unsteadily over the side of the bed. Brendan's shocked by the patch of cold air he leaves behind.

He watches him stand and put on his jogging bottoms, notices how stiff he is.

"Starting to hurt?" he asks. Steven turns to look at him, pulling on that fucking hoodie again; disappearing into it and looking cuddly as Hell and _Jesus Christ_, Brendan Brady does not use the word cuddly.

"It aches a bit," he sighs, "it'll probably be a lot worse in the morning, nothing that I didn't ask for though."

He smiles a wry little smile that Brendan's not sure he likes before turning and leaving the room, leaving Brendan. He allows himself a moment of regret to wish he'd asked him, at the very least, to stay the night but then pushes it aside. It wouldn't have gotten them anywhere, would have been pure indulgence on Brendan's part and given Steven false hope.

Worst of all it would have made it impossible to let him go in the morning.


	6. Chapter 6

Brendan's got a headache like someone's punched him in the face, the words on the page in front of him are swimming about and pissing him off because he can't pin them down to actually read them. Whatever he's doing, and he can't even remember what that actually is, is important and he literally could not care less if he tried to.

He's exhausted, didn't sleep a wink after Steven left him last night. He'd tossed and turned, stared into space, tried to clear his head, thought seriously about drinking heavily, but nothing had shut off his overwhelmed brain. He'd given in at 6am, gotten up, showered the smell of sex and Steven off his body and left for the club early enough to avoid awkward breakfast conversation. He'd left a note: _be back by 2 at the latest, don't start without me._

He'd debated over putting a kiss on it for about 5 minutes.

In the cold light of day he can't believe what they did, can't believe Steven came to him in the first place let alone that Brendan had actually let him. He can remember every detail, the softness of Steven's skin under his hands, the arch of his back off the bed, the sound of his voice, the feeling of sinking into him.

He's fed up of his emotions running wild, feels unstable and on edge and he can't calm his jittering nerves or his palpitating heart. He's shouted at every single member of his staff already, Joel bearing the brunt of it as usual; Brendan thinks he might even have blamed the rain on the poor boy at one point.

There's a soft, frightened little knock on the office door and he's torn between being furious at another person disturbing him and relieved that he has a reason to stop looking at the uncooperative books.

"Yeah, what?"

Joel pokes his head round the door, eyes flicking around the room and then back out into the club; presumably he's looking for witnesses.

"What is it Joel?" Brendan sighs, rubs his hands over his face.

"It's half one, thought you might wanna get off?" he says, inching into the room warily.

He _knows_ it's half one, he's been checking his watch every thirty seconds for the past two hours wishing that he had magical time slowing powers. He drums his fingers against the desk, breathes in and out to calm his temper. It's not Joel's fault he's so wound up.

"Yeah, give me five," he says shortly and waves Joel off. He needs alone time to compose himself a little before he can even think about heading back to the flat. It looks, for a second, that Joel might actually comply but he's unsurprised when he stops on his way to the door and turns to face him, the boy's always been tenacious as fuck.

"Brendan, are you okay?"

Brendan squeezes his eyes shut, grits his teeth and grinds out, "really? Really, Joel? You're doing this?"

Joel's in full swing now, though, coming up to the desk and leaning his hands on it, looking all stubborn and concerned.

"You're a mess today, is it something I should be worried about?"

Brendan supposes he should give him that after everything that's happened this year, what with Sampson, the stabbing, the drama in Southport and Walker threatening everybody, the boy has a right to expect the worse. He remembers that they really have been through Hell together and it softens his mood.

"No, Joel," he sighs, "it's nothing like that, it's a personal thing."

"A personal thing like Walker was a personal thing?" he asks quickly, disbelievingly, "how is Ste by the way-"

"Shut up!" he slams his hands down on the desk and he's up on his feet before he can register moving. Joel flinches back and Brendan seethes as they look at each other in silence.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said that," he eventually says softly, "you just freak me out when you get like this and it's like, for fuck's sake, not this again, yknow?"

"Yeah, I know," Brendan sighs, falls back down into his chair in a heap. The outburst has drained him of the last of his energy.

"How is he, though?"

"He's doing good, well enough to go back home today," he answers distractedly, searching for the pen that flung itself somewhere when he hit the desk and nearly the roof.

"You're kicking him out already?" Joel asks, smirking like he knows Brendan too well. It irks him.

"He's better, Joel, he can leave when he wants," he snaps petulantly and realises with horror that he just gave himself away. It would be so nice to be back in control of his emotions, he thinks vaguely. It's like they're rebelling against him after all the years he kept them beaten into submission.

"Oh, so _that's_ what's wrong with you?" Joel drawls, looking both relieved and irritatingly smug.

"Do you want to leave this office with your teeth?"

"Might be worth it, this is pretty amazing."

"Get out or I _will _kill you."

"Alright, alright, I was just having you on," he says with a laugh, holds his hands up in peace, "if it's making you this depressed, though, why don't you just speak to him?"

"Because I don't take relationship advice from people who date Theresa McQueen?"

"Don't start having a go at Theresa," Joel snaps, "and you can't distract me that easily, it's sound advice. Or is it just too simple for you? If there's no murder and crazy road trips across the country to get rid of bodies your not interested?"

That actually makes him laugh and some of the tension bleeds out of him.

"Yeah that's it, talking's for normal people," he says dryly and Joel chuckles.

"Yeah okay, anyway I've got you covered for the rest of the day anyway so-"

He gestures out into the club and heads for the door, stopping with his hand on the handle.

"You should try it some time, though," he says, "being normal, might get you somewhere."

He leaves and Brendan thinks that might be the most profound thing Joel's ever said in his entire life. Can it really be that simple? Steven wants what he's always wanted, Brendan, real and honest and his alone and it's in his power to finally give him that. Why is he making such a drama out of it? Is that really his nature? He can't just let anything happen without putting it through the mangle six or seven times?

There's the danger to Steven, but he was engaged to another man when he got shot so that excuse is starting to wear thin. What's he so scared of? Hurting him again? He wouldn't, knows that with every fibre of his being.

So what's left? Fear that Steven might one day wake up and realise that he's not worth it? He seriously doubts that too; if they did this it would be forever, he knows that, knows that Steven knows that. Does the thought of forever scare him? The sheer magnitude of the commitment they'd be making is staggering but it doesn't make him feel trapped like it might once have, he still craves freedom like he always has but it means something different to him now.

He stands up, gets his jacket, his keys, his phone.

Simple, normal. Maybe it's not something he has to work at, maybe it's just something he can _have_. Maybe he owes it to both of them.


	7. Chapter 7

Brendan skips up the stairs, two at a time, doesn't care if he looks eager, and promptly collides straight into his front door. He's stunned for a moment; the door's never locked, Steven flings it open if there's so much as a 1 degree temperature rise. He begins to panic, thinks maybe Steven's just gone and left to spare them the pain of another goodbye.

He fumbles his keys in the lock and braces himself. He's met with the familiar noise of the TV, the familiar faint smell of antiseptic, the familiar shape of Steven laid on his sofa fast asleep.

He goes in as quietly as he can, unable to take his eyes off Steven's sleeping form. He shucks his jacket, shoes, keys and phone like usual and grabs the blanket off the other sofa.

Steven's curled up on his good side, nose buried in the fluffy cushion under his head, fingers buried in the shaggy, bright pink fur in front of him and he's wearing that damn hoodie again. Brendan shakes out the blanket and drapes it over him, perches on the sofa in the space Steven's created with the S of his body to tug it up over his shoulder and tuck it around his back.

Steven stirs, snuffles into the cushion and yawns. Brendan watches him fondly, thinks maybe he's gone back to sleep until he turns his head and cracks open one eye.

"Time is it?" he asks sleepily. Brendan swallows, brings up a hand and strokes his thumb against Steven's cheek. He's suddenly fascinated by his face, can't stop looking. He gets like this sometimes, like he forgets what Steven looks like and then unexpectedly he's blindsided by it.

"'Bout two o clock, like I promised," he tells Steven softly, completely focused on the feeling of soft skin under Brendan's thumb, by the fluttering of his eyelashes, the shape of his mouth. It makes the thought of saying what he's about to say so much easier than he ever thought possible.

Steven looks bewildered, shifts onto his back and up onto one elbow.

"What's up?" he asks, frowning.

A small smile breaks out on Brendan's face; he feels giddy with anticipation, light and airy like me might just float away. His heart races and he almost wants to draw the moment out so he can savour this amazing sensation for a bit longer. He doesn't though, it's been long enough and he's finally making good on his word not to waste anymore time.

"I don't think you should leave," he says softly, almost a breath, "I don't _want_ you to leave, ever."

Steven's gaze drifts out into the room, face blank as he processes the words, then his eyes go wide and he snaps back to Brendan looking astonished. He takes a breath, pauses, breathes out and tries again.

"You want me to stay here in the flat with you?"

"Yeah, in the flat and-" he stops, this is it, "-and with me, in a proper relationship, you and me."

"Are you serious?" Steven asks in awe, a smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

"One hundred percent," Brendan tells him seriously, takes Steven's hand between both of his own, "what d'you think?"

"I think no way it can be that easy," he says quickly, eyes flicking over Brendan's face quickly like he's searching for something.

"That's what I thought but-"

Brendan breathes out a dazed laugh and Steven looks at him expectantly, like he wants Brendan to say the perfect thing that will finally cement everything together.

"-it can be, it will be. I can be the person you need, Steven, and you're the only one, there is no one else and there never will be."

Steven chuffs an embarrassed little laugh, smiles widely like he can't help it, looks up at Brendan with honest-to-God light in his eyes. He shakes his head and bites his lip but it doesn't matter, Brendan can see everything there is to see.

He feels reckless and thinks, fuck it, in for a penny and all that, it's not like there's any going back from this anyway, and adds, "I love you, Steven."

Steven laughs again, clear and delighted, and he leans forward to bury his head in Brendan's shoulder. Brendan cups the back of his neck to hold him close, turns his nose into Steven's hair and breathes in the smell of his own shampoo on him.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Steven says eventually, muffled against Brendan's shirt.

"Nope, just thought you should know," he replies warmly, "you gonna look at me, or d'you need a minute?"

There's a thoughtful pause and then, quietly, "-a minute."

He nods into Steven's hair, strokes his fingers across the back of his neck and waits him out. Finally he shifts back.

"Okay," Steven nods, face still a little awed, "okay, this is mad but I want- this past few months I just-" He stops and runs his fingers through his hair, "-I started to remember why I fell in love with you in the first place. I didn't even realise it was happening but then you stood there between me and Walker, ready to take a bullet for me- y'know when I thought I was dying, you know what I thought of?"

Brendan shakes his head, lets Steven's stuttered words sink in.

"I thought about my family, that my kids might never see their dad again, about what Amy was gonna do and how she'd tell them. And I thought about you, about how we never got a chance."

He's completely shocked, can't believe that Steven had laid there with his life draining out of him and his thought's were on Brendan, that they were both thinking the exact same thing. It strengthens his belief even more that they deserve this. He feels flooded with faith, strong and absolute.

"So let's do it properly, yeah?"

"Yeah?" he asks breathlessly.

"Yeah."

Brendan takes Steven's face in his hands and leans in close. He hums a little in satisfaction, tilts his head and presses their lips together for a slow kiss, pushing Steven back into the sofa cushions and leaning over him. There's so many things that he wants to do and say and he realises with elation that he has time for all of them.

He bites on Steven's plush bottom lip and sucks on it lightly as he pulls back from the kiss.

"What now then?" he asks, looks to Steven for the next step since this is all so alien to him.

"Long term?" he checks and Brendan shrugs, "move all my stuff, change my address on everything, tell Amy what's going on."

"How'd d'you think she'll react?" he asks, doesn't care for his own sake but he knows how important she rightly is to Steven.

"Not surprised? She told me how I was feeling before _I _even knew," Steven chuckles, "I think she's gone soft since I told her you tried to get yourself shot for me."

"Always was the brains, your Amy," he quips and gets a smack in the arm, "hey! There aint nothing wrong with getting by on your good looks."

Steven rolls his eyes but can't stop the pleased smile spreading across his face.

"The romance didn't last long did it?"

Brendan's feeling quite mushy, actually. Instead of making another joke he leans forward to press their foreheads together again.

"I'm a romantic guy, Steven," he murmurs softly, close and sweet, "and I'll prove it to you."

He slides one arm under Steven's shoulders and the other under his knees and hauls him off the sofa into his arms. He's heavier than he looks but Brendan gets to his feet without too much trouble, despite Steven squirming and laughing in his grip.

"_I _just came up with the short term plan, carry you across the threshold to the bedroom, lay you down upon the bed and consummate our proper relationship."

"Could you have worded that any _less_ romantically?"

He stops in his journey across the flat, hoiks Steven up into his arms more securely and pretends to think.

"Okay, I'm gonna carry you across the threshold to the bedroom, lay you down upon the bed and fuck you until you can't string two words together that aren't _Brendan _and _yes_," he amends, "how does that sound?"

Steven's expression goes heated, pupils dilating like oil drops, and he says, roughly, "better."

Brendan kisses him quickly, swipes his tongue into Steven's mouth and sucks on his bottom lip, before continuing on to make good on his plan.


End file.
